


Only if For a Night

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Castle Black, Depression, Dreams, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, The Nightswatch, Winterfell, the wall - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1370110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jon returns to the Wall, he hears of Robb's passing. It takes it's toll on him; he will not eat, sleep properly, and concentration is not key. He is thinking irrationally and wants to die, but Robb won't let him, even after the grave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only if For a Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based on the song Only if For a Night by Florence + The Machine.

Jon paced the floor after hearing the news. At first, he'd told himself it wasn't true. No, there was no way Robb had been killed. No, no way that Robb had let his guard down enough to be killed. Tears had not come so quickly. It was many hours later when he ran to his room, pressed his face into Ghost's fur and sobbed loudly. The wolf jumped at the sudden loud outburst and because of the hard touch, but soon he lay there, softly licking Jon's hand. Ghost stood, leaving him there, but Jon's hands reached out for him again and he turned and licked the tears from Jon's cheeks.

Days later he crawled to his bed, Ghost travelling at his side. The wolf wary, red eyes looked around, watching Jon as he pushed himself up on his bed and wobbled on his knees. They buckled beneath his weight and he braced himself on the bed for a long a while. When he found his balance, and a clutch of Ghost's white fur, he began walking. His eyes followed two nightsmen in the yard, practicing their swordsmanship. It reminded Jon of the way he and Robb used to swordplay in the court of Winterfell; darting around the dirt and hitting one another with wooden swords, playing knights. The thought almost made him smile, but the feeling faded as he walked into the armory, trusty Ghost at his side, but he lingered outside the armory, waiting for Jon to reappear.

Jon held two swords in his hands, real swords, not the dull metal that they used to practice and train. Stumbling, he made his way back to the yard, interrupting two sparring watchmen.

"Let's give you a real challenge." Jon offered, holding out the second sword he'd brought with him. He wore a smirk, the look appearing eerie paired with the dark purple rings beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. Reluctantly, the younger watchman turned to Jon, taking the sword and holding it in the appropriate stance. Jon did not place himself right, his legs were placed too far apart, as to keep his balance. His sword hovered in the air, sword bobbing, his weak arm unable to handle the weight of the metal. He took a swing at the younger man, stumbling forward and the other, younger man's sword caught his shoulder. The sharp metal sliced through his arm, severing the muscles, but not hurting him too immensely.

He reeled back, falling to his knees, weak legs merely falling from beneath them. Tears rose in his eyes, falling down his cheeks, some from the pain and the other from sadness, self pity. Some tears were from his realization; he wanted that blade to hit his throat, slice him open and bleed out his life's blood. A hand went absently to his shoulder, pulling away with blood on his gloved palm and he laughed. Odd looks were exchanged, but no one stepped forward to question him or help him. His racking laughs soon became shaken sobs, he fell forward onto the partially snow covered ground, hands bracing him. Warm tears slid from his face, arms shaking weakly and he heard snow crunching under feet as someone finally stepped forward to help him.

Sam waddled over and he patted at Jon's shoulders until finding a decent grip and heaving him up onto his feet. The sword lay at his feet, his eyes not meeting Sam's, but staying on the shining metal. "Let's get some food into you." He doted, guiding, a still crying, Jon away and promising him, "You'll feel better."

"Will the food bring Robb back?" He asked forlornly, almost longingly. Sam told him truthfully, no, a hand still on his shoulder.

"Then it will not make me feel better." He looked ahead now. "Do something useful and leave me to die."

Still Sam made him eat, claiming he needed his strength. He ate, but only to please Sam and make him stop talking. Afterwards he went to his chambers, falling onto the uncomfortable straw bed and covering himself. It wasn't until he was in the fire warmed room and covered under a blanket, that he noticed the deep chill in his bones. Sleep took him, surrounding him in a safe, warm darkness. Peace took over his body, the tear tracks disappeared and dreams filled him with contentment; dreams of frolicking in the soft summer snow as a boy with Ghost yapping at his heels, Robb and himself at swordplay in the yard.

 

The dream fell over him in a flash of bright light. The sun shone beautifully through the trees, shining down in singular beams to the ground. A larger one shone down on the broad body of a man, almost perfectly silhouetted. Jon knew he was in the godswood of Winterfell, though it was a place he had never been, a hill partially raised and the largest beam shining down on it, cloaking the man in bright light. It seemed that he was staring into the sun, yet he did not look away and rub at his burned eyes. Instead, he turned to Jon and stepped from the light, smile on his face and he came to a halt. The man wore grey velvets, a white wolf's fur made a cloak over his back and he had messy, auburn curls atop his head. A sob choked Jon, knowing who it was right away, he ran to him, arms coiling around him tightly and he cried.

Laughter filled his ears and, then, the man managed through chuckles, "Jon."

That voice hit him hard, he felt as if he'd fallen and hit his head. His vision swirled, some with tears and the other merely from his own dazedness. He had longed to hear that voice for so long, now he was hearing it; a small fraction of Heaven. Openly weeping, he pressed his face into Robb's neck, deeply inhaling the scent that was there.

"No need for tears." Robb murmured, pushing him away and swiping beneath his eyes with his thumbs. He pulled Jon forward into a kiss, soft on Jon's wind chapped and cracked lips, hands still holding his cheeks. "I am at peace, now," he whispered when they pulled away and Jon shook his head, tears coming again easily. They fell onto his cheeks and Robb leaned forward and kissed them away.

"You are not dead. You cannot be!" Jon denied, pushing him away, but still held the velvets in his hands. Robb's brow furrowed and he nodded.

"You belong there, with them. You have to help them, you'll be with me someday." He whispered, taking Jon's face tangling his hands up in his hair. "For now, you're theirs. I can't make you do anything, but you have to live. You have to have the will to live. Think about them."

Jon knew that "they" were the remaining Starks. Sansa and Arya, Bran and Rickon. Dumbly, he nodded, tears still streaking his cheeks, leaving pink trails. Robb's arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer, lips pressing to his neck and he rested his head on Jon's shoulder. Jon's tears dried as Robb asked him to stop and Robb pulled away.

"I love you." Robb whispered, kissing Jon again, but he did not respond instead looking away and then clinging to him. Robb's arms fell from him and he placed them gently on his sides, sliding to his hips and squeezing gently. Jon pulled away, wanting to look up to him again, to save the image in his mind. In what had seemed only a few moments of hugging had actually been hours; the sun had almost completely set, bright orange-red rays broke through the trees and still shone on them. The air had grown cooler and a breeze set in, rustling the leaves slightly and some blew from the branches.

Robb cupped Jon's cheek, thumb rubbing a soothing circle over his cheekbone and he smiled wistfully. "I love you." He whispered, then looked down to his chest, his velvet slit open over his heart. Next his skin was ripped open and blood poured steadily from the wound. Instead of panicking, as Jon assumed he would've, he stood stock still, only a gasp leaving his parted lips. Though Jon did not have that calmness, he began sobbing and shaking his head, backing away from him, his knees buckling with each small step. A hand flew up over Robb's heart and he looked to Jon with a faint smile as the leaves began blowing from the trees until they were rendered bare. The sky became a darker, grey-blue an the air was chilling and the dream disappeared. What had started as a golden dream turned into a cold and twisted nightmare

 

Jon woke with a start, Ghost silently jumped up onto the cot and looked to him. Tears came quickly, now. His hands clutched handful of his wolf's fur and he pushed his face into it. The large wolf laid beside him, head resting on Jon's shoulder in a sort of hug.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, leave comments. Constructive criticism is always welcome, the good, the bad, and the ugly.


End file.
